Lady Blanche
by MiniMinou
Summary: Marinette is a girl with a heart full of hopes, dreams and ambitions. Becoming the avatar of Destruction to save the city of Paris from supervillains was not one of them. She's trying her best, but it'd be a lie to say it's going well. At least her superhero partner is kind of cute. [Kwami swap / Reverse Crush / Chat Blanc AU] [Completed]
1. Chapter 1

It's not quite love at first sight.

Or even at first touch.

No, their first moments together are a mess of tangled limbs, pain and embarrassment. Everything is too loud and too bright, her body drunk on power it's never known before, instinctive grace battling a lifetime of clumsiness.

And she hates him a little for brushing their crash landing off with a laugh. For being so carefree, for being fearless, for the way he sweeps into an exaggerated bow and introduces himself as a _Lord _of all things.

"See, I'm not much of a _Lady_bug," he says, green eyes shining with glee. "But _you_ could be my Lady, if you'd like. You're my partner, right?"

That's when Marinette finds herself battling the foreign urge to swipe her new claws at him.

But then he saves her from being crushed by a gigantic stone monster. Speaks soft words of courage when she's on the verge of surrender. Saves the day and unleashes magic that heals the city.

She starts noticing how his golden hair gleams in the sun. How handsome his smile is. How kind his eyes.

When Lordbug squares his shoulders and his jaw, standing tall as he faces down Hawkmoth in their lowest moment, he ignites a fighting spirit inside of her she never knew she had.

Another spark ignites as well, soon growing into an inferno that consumes her every thought.

For Lady Noire is deeply, utterly, _madly_ in love with her partner.

* * *

It's not quite love at first sight.

Quite the opposite.

The contempt in her eyes is nearly enough to make him turn around, walk out of the classroom, and end this "school" experiment right then and there. His carefully nursed hope for friendship shrivels like a sad little grape in the glare of the sun. Any attempt to protest dies in his throat.

_It wasn't me!_

But she doesn't want to hear it, turning her back to him like he is nothing.

* * *

Warmth brushes against him, the tips of their fingers touching for the barest moment as he hands her his umbrella. It only lasts a heartbeat, yet it strikes him like lightning, leaving his skin sizzling with some foreign sensation.

Her smile lights up her face, and her thanks is like music to his ears.

A friend.

He's made _a friend_.

* * *

In time, he makes many friends, and he treasures each and every one.

Yet it's an undeniable fact that Marinette is simply the _best_ of them. And while he can list the many reasons why, it also strikes him as rather unnecessary, for the same reason there is no need to explain that the sky is blue. It simply _is_, and there's no point arguing about it.

So he does not dwell on the way rooms brighten when she enters. Does not dwell on how her gentle teasing makes him laugh like nothing and nobody else. How the divine pastries she so generously supplies taste even better when she offers him one that he knows she's made herself.

Marinette is amazing, and that is a fact of life.

* * *

Bright light washes over her, and Lady Noire stumbles as her momentum carries her forward. The claws itching to sink into the Akuma slice through air instead. She blinks, cat ears twitching as the world tilts on its axis, and cheers fill the air.

That is when strong arms envelop her, squeezing so hard her breath catches.

Oh.

She must have gotten hit.

It's always disorientating to be brought back into existence in the blink of an eye only to realize she _failed_. Her partner had to finish the fight without her – and he _did_. He always does. No doubt she's going to scream into her pillows about it tonight, regret and shame hitting hardest when Plagg has curled up to sleep and she lies alone in the dark, with only spiraling thoughts to keep her company.

But this moment, it doesn't hurt. Not like that.

"My Lady," he whispers in her ear, hugging her tighter, and all of her shivers in delight. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she lies, and fights to contain the purr rumbling in her chest.

_This_ is the sweetest form of agony.

* * *

Marinette has her face burrowed in a pillow again, so it's going to be one of _those_ days. Plagg sighs, flitting to the desk drawer where she keeps his supply of precious camembert, choosing the biggest slice available to gulp down in one bite.

Thus strengthened, he plops down on the pillow next to her, and prepares to face the greatest challenge of all.

_Guidance_.

It's not his way, or that of his Chosen. He gives them a taste of his power, and they run wild, allowing Plagg to observe their real character. The power of Destruction is not lightly given, and easily taken away.

For it corrupts.

But Marinette is not like the ones he's used to, her temperament so unlike the wielders who came before. Far from running wild, she's standing still, forever second-guessing her every step. The heart of a warrior beats inside her chest, Plagg is certain of it, and the Guardian must be, too, to have made this choice.

Yet something is keeping her from tapping into her full potential, and since there's nobody else around, it seems like it's going to be Plagg's task to draw it out.

Suppressing a retch at being forced to go against his very nature, he extends one paw and gently taps her cheek.

"Kitten, you're being too hard on yourself."

"Bu-i-fehld," she says, words muffled by the fabric.

Plagg blows a raspberry, and she jerks up, glaring at him.

"You didn't fail," he drawls, mind firmly on the piece of camembert that is to be his reward for this conversation. "You did exactly what we are meant to do – you protected your partner. And sometimes that requires self-sacrifice."

* * *

"Ugh!"

Marinette's nose crinkles in disgust and she pushes the physics textbook far away. It slides across the table, coming to a halt precariously close to the edge, yet still barely balanced. Her eyes narrow – and for one mad moment it almost looks like her pupils do, too – and then she gives it one more petulant push.

Adrien catches it by its spine before it hits the ground.

"I'll never be able to get this," she mutters, and slumps back in her seat, defeated.

"Of course you will," he says, opening the book back to their current lesson and smoothing the pages.

"Have you considered not everyone's as smart as you?"

"Yeah," he says, "You're smarter."

In the blink of an eye, she's scooped up one of the many crumpled up papers strewn about the desk. By the time he realizes what's happening, it's already on a direct trajectory to his head, accompanied by a dry "Flatterer."

"How dare you besmirch my character like this." He catches it at the last possible moment, and grins smugly. "I speak only the truth."

Marinette rolls her eyes, but there's a small smile tugging at her lips.

"I know it seems hard, but physics – math in general – it's like a puzzle. You just have got to keep at it. It doesn't make sense until you've put all the pieces together and then it starts making _perfect_ sense."

"Sounds fake, but okay."

And yet, she reaches for the book and draws it toward her, intense concentration furrowing her brows as she gives it another try. He really likes that about her.

No matter how much her insecurities try to beat her down, in the end, Marinette always gets up again.

* * *

"Seriously!? Not even for your 18th birthday?"

Adrien shrugs, a brittle smile on his face, because what else can he do? His father's word is law, and there's no point in fighting it.

Marinette crosses her arms, a fierce scowl on her delicate features.

"Do you want me to beat him up for you?"

He barks out a surprised laugh.

"I mean it," she says heatedly. "I can. I _will_. Just say the word."

The laughter dies in his throat. Marinette is _tiny_ while his father looms large in an ominous sort of way, and yet…

It's in that exact moment that Adrien realizes that, yes, Marinette Dupain-Cheng would absolutely find a way to break Gabriel Agreste if that is what it takes to get Adrien a birthday party.

"Oh," he says, and means _I love you_.

* * *

"Tikki! Tikki, what do I do!"

Watching Adrien carve a well-worn path into the luxurious carpet of his room as he paces back and forth, she cannot help but laugh in delight. Finally! The day has come!

Her Chosen's infatuation with sweet Marinette has been so very, _very_ obvious for a long time. So much so that even Tikki, an immortal being as old as time itself, came to know the sting of impatience.

Oh, how tempted she'd been to steer him toward her. To point out the obvious. To give him all the answers and end this everlasting dance around each other.

Yet for living beings to grow as they are meant to, Tikki must let them face their battles, no matter how much she is tempted to shield them. She's made that mistake in times past, letting her precious charges' potential wither as they grew weak and complacent, certain that they could always turn to her for the right answer.

And for her patience she is rewarded with the sheer joy of witnessing the hard-won epiphany dawn at last.

"Well," she says, a rather self-satisfied expression on her face. "From what I understand of humans, there's romantic rituals you could court her with?"

"Yes!" Adrien nods vigorously. "Yes! I'll – a dozen roses! Do you think she likes roses? Or maybe a bouquet, for variety. A dozen bouquets! And, _and_! We could take a boat ride on the Seine and go to the opera!" He gasps, eyes shining as he loses himself in daydreams. "I could ask her to a fashion show, she loves those!"

"Well," Tikki says with a giggle. "Maybe it doesn't need to be every courtship ritual at once."

* * *

"I'm sorry."

No.

"Adrien, I–" Her shoulders hunch inward as she wraps herself inside her arms. "You're my best friend. I don't want to lose that."

It's not supposed to go like this.

"We _won't_ lose it," he rushes to say, because there has to be something, _anything_ he can say that will make her see just how well they fit together. Like puzzle pieces interlocking, shapes perfectly entwined, they are _meant_ to be. "We'll still be us." We'll be _more_.

Eyes like the sky stare at him and for a heartbeat a connection seems forged.

Yet then she averts her gaze, staring at the ground, and whispers words he never even had the sense to dread.

"There's someone else..."

* * *

"Check it out, it's already got close to a million views!"

As it always is when talking about her Lordblog, Alya's voice is overflowing with enthusiasm as she shoves her phone at Marinette. And Adrien would be lying if he said it isn't a secret source of pleasure to listen in on these conversations, to hear the girls praise his alter ego.

That is, most days.

Hearing Marinette swoon over Lordbug carries a sharper edge these days, digging into a wound that refuses to heal. Yet on _this_ day in particular, she's being silent and Adrien is _seething_ for another reason entirely.

"I really don't think it was appropriate of you to upload that video, Alya," he says through gritted teeth. Nino throws him an askance look, and Adrien does his best to conjure a strained smile and temper his tone. He's never been good at conflict, preferring to stay silent rather than risk damage to his treasured friendships. Yet this leaves him ill-equipped to deal with situations where he _has_ to speak up.

"Why?" Alya shoots back, arching an eyebrow.

"I just – don't you think it's kind of mean?"

"You think I'm _mean_?" Alya's voice is rising just as Nino breathes out a quiet, "Bro."

"No, that's not what I – look, I think it's just a mistake, alright? We all make them." He exhales a tired breath, his partner's sweet smile on his mind. "Lady Noire works hard to protect the city and she doesn't deserve to have _her_ mistakes made fun of like this."

And frankly, titling the compilation '10 HILARIOUS CAT FAILS TRY NOT TO LAUGH CHALLENGE' is just too much.

"Nobody's making fun," Alya says.

"Uh, excuse me, have you read the ti–"

"It's _ironic_, Adrien, and that video is _endearing_. Everyone loves Noire memes. I mean, come on, how could you not love that startled little mew just before she falls into the–"

"Oh, _I'm_ making fun," Chloe cuts in from across the row, and Alya transfers her glare from Adrien to her.

"Yeah, well, nobody cares what you think, Chloe," she says. "We all know you're just jealous Lordbug prefers his _real_ partner to you."

An angry pink blotch flares to life on Chloe's cheeks, and Adrien wonders just how red it really is if it's shining through her perfect contouring like that. "Yeah, well," she snaps. "At least Queen Bee never got herself brainwashed, unlike this utterly ridiculous idiot who manages to accomplish that twice a week."

"No, _you_ only derailed a train," Alix says, jumping into the discussion with a cackle.

"Statistically speaking," Max says, calculator in hand, "Lady Noire has only been brainwashed five times, which averages out to once every three point eight months, while the entirety of Paris gets subjected to a mass brainwashing every two point three, and that includes you, Chloe. She's doing a lot better than the average citizen while being present at 98.6% of Akuma attacks."

"She has superpowers," Chloe sneers. "Better than average is the _least_ we should hope for. Lordbug has never _once_ been brainwashed."

"Because she protects him!" Adrien says heatedly, clenching his fists under the table.

And he hates it. Every single time she jumps in front of him to shield him from whatever nasty attack is headed his way, his heart drops to the bottom of his stomach. He's watched her being disintegrated, stabbed, torn to shreds, thrown out of time and even erased from existence.

But it's the brainwashings that he has nightmares of.

_"Kitten," he whispers, fingertips tracing along a bruise on her cheek. A bruise put there by him. "When are you going to stop doing this to yourself?"_

_Her gaze is unfocused, breaths uneven. "Y-you matter more. You can put things right again. I can't."_

_Pink light washes the bruise away, but the memory remains._

"Yeah, right," Chloe says. "Like he needs her."

"He does!" Adrien's voice is rising and he knows people are staring at him, but he doesn't care. "He wouldn't be able to save the city without her! They're a team, she helps him figure out how to use his Lucky Charm all the time, and–"

"Oh please," Chloe says with a laugh. "The only reason he keeps her around is that tight black leather suit of hers. That's why her fanbase is 90% guys. How's that for statistics, _nerds_."

A beat of silence.

"Well, I hate to say it, but Queen Bitch has a point," Kim's booming voice rings out. "That cat suit is her best asset."

The class erupts in a mix of protests and laughter while Adrien chokes on his rage, knowing it'll give away his identity if he so much as opens his mouth past this point. To them, this is just another round of arguing which Parisian superhero is best, but to him, that's his friend, his _partner_, and it makes his skin crawl to hear her talked about like this. As shy as Lady Noire is, barely even able to squeak out a sentence when put on the spot, when facing danger, she is _indomitable_. She's brave and resourceful and _wonderful_ and deserves nothing of this.

Turning away from the others in disgust, he does his best to tune the rest of the debate out. And maybe it's his search for something else to think about while the discussion grows heated, or maybe it's his body's attunement to her movements at all times, but he seems to be the only one who notices Marinette slinking out the door.

* * *

Plagg's soft paw is pressing against her cheek, thrumming with a comforting purr as she tries hard to suppress the sobs racking her body. Pressing her palm to her mouth, Marinette stifles the sounds, because she really, _really_ can't explain to anyone why she's crying in the hallway, not without giving her secret away. And that would be her worst failure yet.

Yet only one in a long line of them.

"Don't listen to these idiots," Plagg hisses. "They know nothing of you. Of us. Of true power or battle or strength of character."

"B-but they're right. Aren't they?" She stumbles through the bathroom door and slams it shut behind her, sinking to her knees. "I – I _do_ get brainwashed, and captured, and defeated, while _he _– he is–"

_Perfect._

Plagg scoffs. "Please! He's the biggest dork I've seen in centuries!" Then his voice softens. "And _you_ have the most potential in–"

He freezes, fur standing on end. Then he slams into her shoulder as if trying to get her to budge.

"Run!"

"W-what?"

"You need to _run, now!_"

And then she sees it.

A purple butterfly fluttering in through the bathroom window.

Scrambling to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes, she yanks open the door – god, why do they have to open inward – and pushes forward. Yet her body isn't responding right, clumsy, too-stiff limbs not infused with the grace her instincts expect. Stumbling, her momentum carries her forward until she hits the railing, and that's the only thing that saves her from falling into the courtyard below.

Her ring grows cold as ice.

_Well, well, well. What do we have here._

Sickening tendrils curl around her thoughts and pry away her secrets, a burst of glee that is not her own exploding inside of her. He knows. _I know._ Oh god, he knows, he knows, he's not supposed to know, she FAILED–

_My dear Lady, this is not a failure. This is an opportunity._

"Shut up," she whispers. "I refuse. I refuse you, Hawkmoth, you have nothing to offer me."

"Marinette!"

She jerks up her head as a new voice joins the one taunting her.

_Aren't you sick of being second best? Aren't Creation and Destruction meant to be equals?_

Adrien is staring at her with eyes wide in horror. Then he breaks into a sprint, clearly intent on closing the distance between them.

"Stay back!" She doesn't know if she's screaming at him or Hawkmoth. "Go away!"

_How many times have you failed to protect him?_

Shut up. Shutupshutupshutup–

_I offer you the power to become what you should have been all along. And I will not even ask for your Miraculous in return. I ask only to borrow it long enough to make a wish, and then you shall be the true, worthy heir to Destruction._

Adrien hands come down on her shoulders. His lips are moving, but she cannot hear a thing past the sweet voice in her head.

_No more doubt. No more weakness. No more failures._

_Don't you want to be perfect, Lady Blanche?_

_Like him?_

"Adrien," she whispers as her ring starts bubbling with black. "Run."


	2. Chapter 2

Adrien should listen to her, he knows he should. Running from the Akuma about to be born and finding a quiet place to transform is the sensible thing to do.

Yet he finds himself rooted to the spot, unable to turn away from the girl he loves as she cries out in agony, clutching her head, blackened fingers digging into her temples. It's not the first time he witnesses the corruption up close and maybe it's just the adrenaline slowing down his perception, but this one seems excruciatingly slow, like every inch of her skin lost to the Akumatization is a battlefield.

And she's losing.

"Fight! Marinette, fight it! Please!" Please, please, _please_.

Deep down, he knows it's useless to beg. Nobody ever fights off Akumatization. But he begs anyway, because if she doesn't fight this, then he'll have to fight _her_.

The thought is unbearable.

It's not like it would be the first time he's had to cut Hawkmoth's strings dragging one of his friends around. He knows it won't really be _her_. But that twisted abomination Hawkmoth is turning her into will still wear her face.

Maybe it won't. Sometimes Akumas become monsters with no resemblance to the person they were made from. God, he hopes she won't shine through.

He jerks back his hands when the writhing miasma bubbles up to her shoulders, and Marinette cries out when it reaches her throat. It trails off into a hoarse gurgle, and rips a keening sorrow from Adrien's throat in response.

Move.

His feet refuse to budge, rooted to the ground even as screams fill the air, panicked students in the courtyard sounding the Akuma alarm.

_Move._

There's nothing of Marinette left, only a malevolent cloud that churns and twists, coalescing into a new body, and he needs to find a spot to transform _right now_.

But then it _speaks_.

"Plagg. Claws out."

A cry splits the air, and a little black blob is pulled into the maelstrom. _What–?_ Green lightning crackles, illuminating the dark mist from within. The miasma pulses, bulging outward, growing in size as it starts taking shape.

Adrien's breath catches before the black fog has even begun to dissolve.

He knows that silhouette. Those ears. Has played with that braid too many times to count.

Blackness retreats and leaves behind shining white.

His kitten's ears barely clear his chin, the perfect height for him to tease her by blowing air just to watch them twitch in irritation. Yet as his gaze meets icy blue eyes, he doesn't have to angle his head at all. The Akuma stands as tall as he does.

"No," Adrien whispers.

The Akuma is wearing Marinette's face, as he knew it would.

But it's also wearing his Lady's.

How had he never–?

Oh god.

The answer to a question he hadn't yet had the time to ask punches him in the gut.

She heard. She heard it all. That's what drew the butterfly to her.

"Marinette," he chokes out. _My Lady._

She cocks her head, her gaze traveling up and down his body, like he's an insect pinned to some wall for her to examine at leisure. He stiffens when she takes a step forward to close what little distance between them remains, hardly daring to breathe as she raises her hand. He's not transformed, his strength a fraction of hers. Should he try to run?

But cats give chase.

She lays a claw on his lips.

"Lady Blanche," she corrects him. Her voice is Marinette's, and yet it's not, devoid of that sweet warmth he cherishes. "You really should have run, Adrien."

And now he can't.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry I let this happen to you."

Sharp fangs glint in the light. "I'm not."

Purple light blooms in the form of a butterfly mask, illuminating the achingly familiar face wearing a stranger's smirk. Her eyes grow vacant, no doubt listening to the voice inside her head.

A twitch of her ears draws his attention just as her smile widens.

"What's it to you, Hawkmoth?"

The claw she used to shush him is gently stroking his lower lip, though she's no longer paying attention to him, distracted by a conversation only she can hear.

He can't stop staring at her ears. Far from being leather imitations, they're covered in soft white–

Her hand wraps around his throat and lifts him off the ground.

"Name one good reason why I shouldn't kill him."

* * *

DO NOT DARE

The roar in her head is deafening, a wave of emotions not her own crashing over Lady Blanche, just as there is a yank on the leash the butterfly has bound her with. Rage at her defiance mingles with fear and–

How very curious.

Why is the scourge of Paris feeling protective of Adrien Agreste?

"Oh, Hawkmoth," Lady Blanche says as she pays no mind to yet another pulse of the compulsion to OBEY, tightening her hold on her best friend's throat just to show she _can_. "Did you really think you could tame Destruction? I am greater than you could ever hope to be."

"M–Mari–" Adrien barely manages to wheeze out two of the hated syllables, green eyes beseeching her, and Lady Blanche squeezes harder to keep him from saying the other.

Because she is _not_ that pathetic girl any longer. Lady Blanche is alive in a way that failure never was. Weighed down by weakness no more, her veins sizzle with unimaginable power as her blood calls for more blood.

More of Hawkmoth's frustrations pours into her through their bond, just as she intended, giving her expanded senses the time to find the source of their connection.

There.

Lady Blanche laughs in delight, and then _she_ is the one to yank on the leash.

_"–lease, please, I want to go to school. I'll do anything!" _

_Gabriel sighs at the familiar whine, and he and Emilie share a look before she smiles, diving deep into that never-ending well of patience he envies. Kneeling down to meet their son at eye-level, she runs her fingers through his wild mane to tame it._

_"Sweetie, don't you like our lessons?"_

_"I – of course, maman, but I–" Adrien bites his lip, and looks at the ground, whispering, "I want to make friends."_

_"You have Chloe, don't you?" Emilie says sweetly. "Don't you like Chloe?"_

_"Yes, but–"_

_"Then I'll arrange another play date for you two right away. How about tomorr–"_

STOP

Why should she? He burrowed into her mind and tried to steal all her secrets, so it's only fair to turn the tables.

_Fingertips press against the cold glass, tracing the shape of her jaw, her eyes, her mouth. Every day she slips further away from him, precious memories having faded a little more each time he wakes up, so every day he reminds himself of what he is fighting for._

"Tee–k–" Adrien's broken voice pulls her out of her reverie. He's mouthing something, desperately clawing at her hand, but no sound escapes her grip.

So she loosens it.

He crumbles to his knees, gasping for breath. She leans down and reaches to gently stroke his hair. He freezes at her touch. The scent of fear is thick in the air and it's delicious, yet knowing it's _Adrien's_ leaves a foul aftertaste.

"It's alright," Blanche says softly, and presses a kiss to his forehead by way of apology. "You're safe. I promise. I won't hurt you again."

It's a shame that Hawkmoth turned out to be Gabriel Agreste. She's been dreaming of destroying both of them for years.

Now she'll only get to eviscerate one man instead of two.

Oh well.

It's not like there is a shortage of evil men in this world.

* * *

Her favorite scent in all the world envelops her long before he makes his presence known. Pivoting on the spot, she bounds forward on all fours, purr in her throat and wind in her mane.

He is magnificent, as always, standing tall and proud on a roof overlooking the streets below. Watching her as she winds her way through the familiar streets of her territory, headed for their enemy's lair. Claws digging into brick and window panes, she scales the building, hopping onto the rooftop a few feet away from him. As tempting as it is to wind her way around his long legs and mark him with her scent – _mine_ – she pushes herself to stand on two legs so that he does not tower over her.

Today, they finally meet as equals. A sidekick no more.

There's time for marking him later.

"My Lord."

Her cold heart is singing, the song's rhythm reserved for him alone. Sauntering closer, she makes no effort to hold back the pleased purr his sight draws out of her. Let him know how she feels, that all of her is his. No longer will she keep quiet.

"My Lady."

There is no joy in his expression, voice grave, but that's alright. He hasn't met her yet, doesn't know that Blanche is unlike any other Akuma. Unlike _anyone_. She is unbound, in every sense of the word. Free from all the petty concerns of her former life, free from doubt, free from Hawkmoth.

The yo-yo's string whirrs as he unwinds it, letting it swing in a circle at his side. He's trying to look casual, but she knows him well enough to recognize signs of imminent attack.

"You won't be needing that," Blanche says, and to make her point, she holds up her baton. As she releases her hold on it, it clatters to the ground, rolling away. While this is far from laying down her arms – nothing can take her claws and fangs from her – it _is_ a sign of good faith that she hopes he will accept.

Lordbug stares at the baton for quite some time, jaw working. Then he raises her gaze to meet hers, beautiful green shining with – hope? Dread?

"You don't want to fight?"

His scent gives away nothing, the magic of his Miraculous scrambling his emotions' signature, leaving only the essence that is _him_. The one she's always secretly wanted to roll around in.

"You're my partner," she says softly, and means it. "My other half. We are not meant to fight."

Another long look, and she smiles prettily. Yet that makes his gaze skitter away as he blinks rapidly.

"Is this the part where you offer peace in exchange for my Miraculous?"

"No. I would never ask that you make yourself lesser for me." She takes a step forward, then another. He does not step back, yet his posture grows defensive. "And I do not intend to make myself lesser either. This ring is mine, and I'll never let Hawkmoth lay a paw on it."

Not even a smile. Her Lord loves silly cat jokes, is always so delighted when she plays along, yet his face remains unmoved and wary. The tip of her braid sways in irritation. Patience. Her clever Lord probably thinks this is a trap, for good reason, and so she must earn his trust.

"He can't control me." She does not bother keeping the triumph out of her voice. Let her partner see what she has made of herself, how great her power has grown. "And that connection he forged between us works both ways. When he pried open my mind, he also opened his. I know where he lives. I know who he is."

Her Lord's inhales a sharp breath, and she smiles, excitedly bouncing forward, unable to contain her excitement any longer. He jerks back, and that hurts, but she captures his hand in hers and squeezes. His wide-eyed gaze darts from her face down to their entwined hands, and back up again. He is searching her face for _something_, and so her ears perk forward, the sunlight growing near-blinding as her pupils dilate.

There is no point in holding back her love for him. She is done hiding behind sneaky glances and stammered excuses. Now that she is finally all that she should be, there is no need to fear rejection from Creation.

They are meant to be.

"He can't hear us," she whispers, leaning forward until their lips are so close that she can feel his rapid breaths on hers. "Or see what I see, or know what I think. I've banished him from my mind."

_It's just you and me._

That is what she would like to say, but it's not quite true. While she has barricaded her own mind, Hawkmoth's remains quite open to her, his thoughts spilling from the butterfly infused with his power. She can feel him prowling in the back of her mind, savors the rising panic as the gravity of his mistake dawns. As long as Blanche holds the Akuma in her ring – one that she has no intention whatsoever of giving up – he cannot release a new one.

_No more evil-doing for you, little Gabriel._

Of course, he's already reaching for the peacock to create a Sentimonster to be his guard. But there is no doubt in her mind that these pitiful creatures are no match for her, no matter how many he might try creating. She will delight in destroying them all until the broken brooch wears down its wielder's body.

And then she will tear him apart.

It's fun to tease her prey, so she's made a game of opening her mind every now and then just long enough to show him a glimpse of his imminent fate. Relishing the way he recoils in disgust and terror when she lets her vivid imagination take flight, she pictures the exquisite feeling of her claws slicing through the soft flesh of his belly. How her fangs will rip the meat from his bones and how they will crack under her strength.

She can almost taste it.

And then, once she has torn Gabriel Agreste limb from limb, Blanche will pluck a trophy from her kill and lay it at Adrien's feet. She does owe him an apology, after all, and what better way to express that she's sorry for having had to hurt him than to gift him with his freedom?

But this hunt isn't hers alone.

"I'll share what I know," she purrs. "If you promise never to purify me. And then we'll make him pay for every single death he inflicted on me."

"You really–" Lordbug swallows heavily, his voice thick with hope he's trying to suppress. "You want to fight _him_? Not me?"

"Never you." And even though she is perfect now, there still is a tremor in her voice, echoes of old fears reverberating within as she gives voice to the feeling she's kept locked away for so long. "My Lord. Don't you know how much your Lady adores you?"

His breath catches, and then he laughs. It's a bitter sound, made of sorrow and longing, and Blanche scowls.

"God," he says, and almost chokes on a hysterical giggle. "_Someone else_. Yes. Goddamn, I am – we are so – so damn _stupid–_"

"Stupid?" Her claws sink into his skin, a snarl rumbling in her throat. "Is my love such a joke to you!?"

"No!" Green eyes widen, the lopsided grin wiped from his face in an instant. "_No._ It's just..."

A shiver runs down her spine, the growl fading, because he's looking at her, really looking at her, _seeing_ her, and her skin is burning under that scorching gaze.

"I've just realized I've been an idiot about a lot of things." The murmur is filled with yearning, yearning _for her_, and it's an irresistible siren song. "The kind of idiot who can't see what's right in front of him."

He tastes better than even in her imagination, like home and safety and the magic of her other half. The dawn of a new spring mingles with the earthy flavor that is all _him_. Yet as wonderfully soft as his lips are, they do not respond to the gentle coaxing of her tongue – not until a deep groan spills from the depths of his chest and his frozen body comes alive under her touch. One of their hands remains entwined, yet he buries the other in her mane, drawing her closer.

As always, they are in harmony, his roaming hand brushing over _that spot_ behind her ears just so, and she cannot help but smile against his lips. This, _this_ is all she ever–

Betrayal cuts like a knife.

At once, she dashes backward, unhinging her jaws for a venomous hiss as she protectively clutches her hand to her chest.

Her ring. He tried to take her ring!

Lordbug is trying to _kill_ her. Wipe Lady Blanche from existence and turn her into that blubbering mess once more.

"Just because I don't _want_ to fight you," she snarls, "that does not mean I _won't_."

And if ripping those earrings out with her teeth is what it takes to defend her life, then she will do exactly that. Yes. Until he learns to be a team again, she will not give them back.

He tries to hide his treachery behind a sorrowful expression. "And just because I do not want to fight you, either, that doesn't mean I won't fight for my Lady."

"I _am_ your Lady!"

"No," he says softly. "You are not."

She wants to howl in frustration. How can he not see that she is perfect now? Is he intimidated by her? Does he _want_ her feeble and dependent on him? "I am better than she ever was! Everything that was worth anything about her, I took for myself, and left her weakness behind!"

"Her kindness is not weakness."

Blanche exhales a sharp breath. "I can be kind." When she wants to be.

"Was it kindness to choke her friend?"

How does he–?

Something stirs in the back of her mind, twisting with guilt she should not feel. _Shut up, Gabriel._

"I had to do that," she snaps. "I was testing Hawkmoth's control."

"Testing it by hurting someone she cares about. I'm not going to let you do that her friends and family."

"I'm not going to."

Well.

Maybe Alya. A little. Or maybe a lot. Blanche's claws curl inward as she recalls that humiliating video, all those little barbs piercing her heart as this arrogant little ass felt fit to belittle those fighting to protect her. Yes, she needs to be taught to respect her superiors.

_No!_

Then again, exposing Noire's weakness did help Blanche ascend to perfection. So maybe she could be lenient. Just this once.

And it had made Adrien defend her so sweetly, her one bright spot in that miserable classroom. Yes, she will definitely be bringing him a gift. The best gift. And then she'll bask in his gratitude.

_He won't be grateful to find his father's dead body in his room._

The insidious whisper is growing louder, and it doesn't sound like Hawkmoth at all.

_You'll be hurting him again._

No. She won't. Adrien is precious to her, so she will protect him from all who would do him harm. And she will teach him strength, help him overcome the same weakness that used to cripple her. Always so concerned with what others think, forever second-guessing every step because he might dip a toe out of line.

"Don't you understand?" Blanche struggles in vain to keep the frustration out of her voice. Why is he looking at her like this? This isn't how it's supposed to go! "I'm everything she is and more. All her devotion is _my_ devotion. I can protect them better than ever. I can protect _you_."

"I never asked you to protect me," he says. "I don't want you to sacrifice yourself all the time. I don't want any of this." His beautiful eyes are wet and shining, voice growing hoarse. "It hurts to see."

_I don't want to hurt you._

"But don't you understand," she pleads. "I'm _perfect_ now. Like you. I won't ever have to sacrifice myself again. I'm finally worthy of y–"

"_Worthy!?_" The roar rings in her sensitive ears and she flinches, flicking them back. "You've always been worthy of me! From the day we met! And long before that! How can you think–"

He cuts himself off, exhaling a shuddering breath as he clenches his fists by his side. Yet then his expression grows soft and tender, the tension leaving his body.

"My Lady," he murmurs, "My Marinette."

_I'm here._

Horror shoots through Blanche at the hated name he should not know. How–

"Spots off."

Bright pink light blinds her, and suddenly it's no longer her Lord she's looking at.

No.

Impossible.

Adrien's smile is crooked, etched with grief. "Don't you know how much I adore you?"

_She stares at the single red rose thrust at her face, gaze frantically darting between it and her best friend's face. His smile is filled with joy and hope and only a faint tremor of nerves he's doing his best to hide._

_"Marinette, I think you're the most wonderful girl I've ever met."_

This can't–

No.

How can he love _her_?

_Me._

No! Not me! Not her! Blanche is someone else now, someone better, finally his match! He just doesn't see it yet, hasn't witnessed what she is capable of, so she will have to show him what she can achie–

Ugly bruises are winding around Adrien's neck, dried blood marking the spots where her claws dug into his skin.

When she was choking him.

Adrien. Lordbug. Her love. Whom she is sworn to protect.

Never to hurt.

_I never wanted to hurt you._

"No," she whispers, clutching her temples with her claws. "Nononono_no_…"

Something violently throws itself against the confines of her mind, making her shudder.

Some_one_.

And it's not Hawkmoth.

Shut up. Be quiet.

_Never_.

Lady Blanche is perfection incarnate.

So why are there ugly black veins crawling up her arms? Like ink, they spread, taint, _stain_, her pure white corrupted by ugly black.

Get it off, get it off, _get if off_–

"Marinette!"

His voice is calling for her, yet he's frantically cycling through all the wrong names, chanting them like a prayer.

_My Lady. Marinette. Kitten._

"Come back to me." His lips are pressed against her neck, strong arms wrapped around her body, the warmth of his skin pressed against hers burning like a brand. "Fight. _Fight_. For me, please."

Yet he never calls for Blanche.

Cold heart fracturing, she closes her eyes and makes peace with the inevitable.

When her partner calls for her, Lady Noire is always there to fight by his side.

But she wants the world to know that it was Destruction, not Creation, who finally caught their prey. So Lady Blanche speaks the enemy's true name and lets it be her last gift to the Lord she loves.

* * *

**Author's Note**

If you'd like to see art of what Lady Blanche looks like, come visit my tumblr: mini-minou :)

I had a ton of fun writing the psychotic smitten kitten, and I hope you enjoyed her tale, too. I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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